“Did you pack eight days of clothes?” I asked the fair and industrious Trudy.
She looked at me silently for a moment and then answered, “Yes.”
I was wondering if she was thinking that we’d stop and do laundry at some point.
“My suitcase isn’t large enough for eight days of clothes,” I said, regretting again that I’d bought that compact little thing instead of one size larger.
She looked at me silently for a moment and then answerd, “We have lots of other suitcases and duffle bags.” And she pointed at the closet behind me.
It was late. Of course, I thought to myself somewhere in the recesses of my lizard brain, we’re flying Southwest [bags fly free].
That was last night. This morning, after the mammal brain in me had a chance to sleep, when I looked at our suitcases packed full of clothes and the laundry basket filled with shoes and other miscellaneous bulky things that we are taking with us, I realized why she gave me the silent looks she did.
You see, we’re not flying Southwest. And we won’t be checking any bags. … Because we’re not flying. We’re driving. And the car will have lots of room—plenty of room for eight days of clothes.